Light as a Feather
by Lionel Twain
Summary: When an experimental biological laboratory suddenly requires a therapist for the scientists—and even some of the experiments—due to an unexpected rule from the director, they search for someone with as many secrets as the lab: Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
1. Prologue

"Turn left." the guard, donned in black, said, gesturing with his gun. The girl stepped forward lightly, and turned down a softly lit hallway. A second guard followed, holding his gun loosely by his side. He watched his partner carefully, and that girl (was she really a girl?). He liked to think that he was made Marc's partner to 'keep an eye' on him—almost everyone on the security team knew of Marc's unpredictable bursts of vulgar language or violence to the experiments.

"Move!" Marc leaped forward, nudging the girl (thing? it?) in her back with his gun. She yelped and burst forward. Louis could almost picture dust being kicked up from the carpet as she tore down the hallway, yanking open a door. She disappeared through it, and let it slam shut. "Okay. We're done. C'mon, Louis." Louis frowned but followed Marc.

As they left, a van's engine started. Marc and Louis opened the doors, hopped in, and started talking as the van drove off.

"First time doing the easiest job ever." said the driver. "I seem like a chauffeur, not a guard."

"The director said that Lecter could handle it. I don't give a crap, we're still getting paid to drive that experiment back to the lab later." Marc said gruffly, turning around in the front seat to look at Louis.

"Bet we'll still get in shit if something happens." Louis added meekly.

"You go pick a fight with that cannibal, and see if he's the type that would let 'shit happen'." Marc said grimly as he turned back to face the front of the van.


	2. Chapter 1

Dr. Hannibal Lecter sat at his desk in his office, adding final details to a sketch of a smiling child. He had heard the girl scream, so he supposed the guards had left. As he suspected, in a few seconds his office door flew open, and a figure clad in white sprinted through. She stopped, quickly examined the room, and ran towards a window.

"Do not break my windows; I would find that difficult to explain to the laboratory." he said calmly, watching. Her head whipped around to look at him. He set down his pencil, and leaned back in his chair.

The girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen, he estimated, was shaking. He smiled to himself as he recognised a classic animal—human or otherwise—thought: fight or flight. Though, he noticed, in her case the "flight" instinct would be literal. She was rather skinny, with a large torso and shoulders. Feathers dipped to the back of her knees from her folded wings.

Hannibal made a mental note to guess, and then sketch on paper, the anatomy of such a complex design. He ought to practise with drawing more birds first, he thought. "Please, sit." he gestured at two chairs as he rose from his desk. The girl stood between the window and chair, wide eyes staring warily at Dr. Lecter as he sat down. One second passed after the other as they stared at each other. He crossed his legs, hands resting on his knee. His face did not betray his irritated mood; the girl was being _rude. _What irked him more was the fact that any justified consequences of her behaviour would not be tolerated by the laboratory that employed him. He was to sit in his own home, in his own office, and let the girl continue to ignore all manners or etiquette.

While his hands tightened in mild anger on his knee, he studied the girl as she continued to breath heavily but silently, her mouth gaping open; she was used to heavy exercise or stress during enforced quiet. Hannibal's many clocks, including his metronome he used only in the presence one of his patients—his extraordinarily interesting patient—ticked modestly in the background. The girl suddenly jumped forwards into a sprint towards the second door in Hannibal's office. Ripping open the door so hard that his doorknob was left hanging off, the girl bounded down the hall over hardwood floors and plush carpets. Hannibal's face briefly contorted in an uncharacteristic fit of anger—anger directed partially at himself, for not predicting that a person unconditioned for human interaction would act like this girl did. His jacket was carefully but hastily laid on his chair, and Hannibal ran after the girl.

She trotted down the hallway, unsure of where to go. Hannibal entered into his dining room, silently breathing to listen intently, while quietly removing his shoes before continuing towards his front door. The girl saw the door and ran towards it, lightly tripping over the edge of a carpet. He walked towards her, feet padding on the floor without noise. He kept his face still. "It would be beneficial to you and me if you would move away from my door." he said politely, a touch of a threat laced into the words. He stepped towards her, each footstep light yet confident. The girl glanced once, twice, thrice, between Hannibal and the door before launching a kick aimed at his stomach. Her foot collided with his abdomen, sending Hannibal sprawling back onto the floor. He winced and quickly pulled himself up, reaching with one hand for her arm, the other hand ready to block breath-taking kicks.

She kicked once more, her leg caught by his hand, and fell to the floor. Hands flying, she leaned up and aimed to wickedly claw his face. As she curled up from the ground to attack, her head moved, and after grimacing at the primitiveness of it, Hannibal brought his head forward with strength to collide with hers. He winced once more before wrapping his hands around her thin arms and slammed them to his floor. "Do not attack me in my own home. Rudeness is not tolerable." he said with menace, his knee pressed into her stomach, keeping her trembling against the floor. Her wins were awkwardly pinned at painful angles under her, and her face began to contort with pain. For a minute, the only sound in the house was breathing, heavy from the short fight... and the doorbell.

Hannibal stood up suddenly, pulling the girl with him. "Come, now." he pulled her by the wrist, quickly leading her up the stairs to the second floor. Dim lighting greeted them as he hurried to a guest bedroom, quietly opening the door. "Please stay in here. I will not harm you further, lest you attack me once more." he said, gently pushing her into the room. "Someone has come to visit, and I must greet them." he met her gaze, inclining his head towards her while promising, "However once they have left I shall return. You will not be abandoned." he said with a hint of humour.

The red door stood still, and he was tempted once more to ring the bell. Its chime would echo through the quiet house, and surely that would bring the doctor to his front door. As the man waited with patience and curiosity on Hannibal Lecter's front porch, snow drifted down from the pale sky. Finally, the door opened with a modest groan and there he was, in a dark suit.

"Will, hello. What brings you here today?" Hannibal inquired, standing back to welcome him inside. Will smiled, and kept his hands tucked in coat pockets as he stepped in the grand house. He paused, noticing the doctor's appearance. "I need to discuss one of the cases, one that's been on my mind." he looked around, taking in things that began to feel familiar: the peek of the contemporary kitchen, numerous paintings hung, illuminated by tasteful decorated lamps.

"Please, come to my office," Hannibal Lecter said, turning to close the door as Will walked forward, only once glancing upstairs where an avian-human hybrid hid. "We can discuss what you think has caused this case in particular to linger."


End file.
